


The Scar

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Series: Warriors [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: Pre-Canon.  Anthony's story before he met Carl.How Anthony got his scar. How Anthony met Bruce.This story is different from canon, but would still work within the canon narrative. It works as a prequel the "Warriors" series.Originally posted for the Fan Flashworks "paper" challenge as "Reading the Papers."





	

When Anthony was a little boy, his name was Tony, and he knew his Grandma was the best lady in the whole world. His earliest memories were of rocking in her arms while she sang songs or told him he was a good, good boy and she loved him and it didn’t matter what anyone else did or said. No one else ever said that, except his Grandpa and that was usually when Grandma reminded him. Grandpa didn't like too much talking. It disturbed him reading his paper.

Grandma’s house was the best, safest place Tony knew. He always had the right kind of clothes to wear, and his feet never turned blue with cold or got all bruised because his shoes were two sizes too small. There were toys and a special blanket and a clean, comfortable bed just for him and a shelf of books with pictures and something good to eat whenever he was hungry. 

Even Grandpa behind the paper would smile if Tony walked up and patted his knee. “You’ve been a good, quiet boy,” Grandpa would say. “How about a nice snack?” Grandpa’s snacks weren’t as good as Grandma’s—usually crackers and peanut butter. But Grandpa would tell Tony he was a good boy and then remember the jelly and they would have some sweet crackers, too. So, it was all much better than what he could have at home.  The only bad thing about Grandma's house was that eventually he would have to go home because he belonged to Mama and Daddy.

Home wasn’t safe. Home was bad. Mama wasn’t mean, but she forgot things, like Tony and whether he had gotten anything to eat and if he had shoes on when she sent him to play in the snow, or if they had to go to school or the doctor. By the time he was three, Tony could get food by himself from the cupboard and he knew to go to the neighbor to call Grandma if Mama forgot and left him outside alone with no shoes and no jacket. When he was very little, Grandma wrote her phone number on all his clothes after the first time he got lost and was found crying under the porch. If Daddy was home, sometimes it would be a whole day before anyone thought about him, hiding under the bed or in a closet, wrapped up in whatever he could find to keep warm. If he remembered, he took the bread when he hid, just in case. He learned the first time that crackers made noise, and hungry was better than letting Daddy see or hear him.

Even in a good mood, Daddy was mean. There were the times he burned Tony with a cigar or a cigarette, or took away his food at the last minute and laughed when Tony cried. Other times he hit and hit and hit until Mama and Tony were bleeding and crying and broken. The baddest times were if Tony got sick because he wasn’t fast enough to get away if Daddy saw him. Even if he hid, a sneeze was dangerous. Tony went to the hospital the first time Daddy tore up the bed, throwing the mattress across the room and knocking a dresser on top of him.

When it was extra bad, the police would come and an ambulance and loud men would yell at Daddy and take him to jail when he tried to hit them. The lady at the hospital would make a face with her lips all tight whenever she saw Tony with a black eye or a broken arm or round, black burns. “You have to leave him,” the lady would say to Mama. “Just sign the papers.” And Mama would say that Daddy didn’t mean it or that Tony had been a bad boy. And the lady said, “No boy is bad enough to be treated like this.” And then Tony would show the lady his special piece of paper. The one with kittens and grandma’s phone number. By the time he was four, Tony could say the numbers when anyone asked his phone number.

And then he’d stay with Grandma until Daddy was better enough to not hurt or burn or hit anyone for a while. Once it would be for a whole year and Tony hid in the attic when Mama came to take him away from Grandma. Mama never read stories and played games and talked to Tony just like he was a real person. Grandma always said it was good and special when Tony was there. She usually kept Tony home from school, because the school people were too worried about papers that said who Tony really belonged to, but there would be trips to the museum or the library or to George Washington’s house, and he would get ice cream, sometimes, or soda. Special things. Because, for Grandma, Tony was a special boy. A good boy.

When Tony was nine and a half, Grandma got very sick. And when he was ten, she died. Grandpa came and brought him to the hospital because she asked for him. Tony was too scared and sad to cry, and Grandma took his hand.

“My little Tony,” she said, “You’re a good boy. A strong boy. A brave boy. A loving boy. Tony, when you meet someone who treats you good, you stay by them. You promise me?” Tony nodded. She looked at Grandpa nervously. “Sal, you promise me to look after my Tony.”

“Of course, Angela,” Grandpa said. “I’ll do my best. You know that.” At first, Tony stayed with Grandpa because it was bad to leave him all alone. But six months later, Grandpa sold the house and Daddy came by and had an argument with Grandpa. Then, Grandpa, with his arm in a sling, brought Tony to the diner for a surf and turf. He explained that Daddy had broken his arm and the headlights on the car, and that Tony couldn't visit so much any more. And then he said that Tony was a big boy now and needed to be brave, but that Grandpa was looking out for him. That Tony could come to his new house whenever he wanted. Tony nodded and said thank you for the surf and turf, because he knew that Grandpa didn’t like lots of talking. And Grandpa’s eyes filled up with tears and he said, “I’m so sorry, Tony. You’re always a good boy. I’m sorry I’m not doing better.”

On the killing night, Grandpa came by because the school called looking for Tony and he was worried. Tony hadn’t been to school and there wasn’t anything to eat a lot of days. And Daddy was in a bad mood. More than regular. When he saw his Grandpa, Tony started to cry because he was so scared and tired and hungry. And Grandpa had gotten very, very angry and yelled at Daddy.

Then Daddy hit Grandpa, and Tony, for the very first time, hit Daddy back. That made him really mad. Daddy cut Tony’s face with a steak knife and kicked him and then threw him in a closet, breaking his arm. Then Tony heard a terrible noise and Grandpa screamed and then Mama was there and there was a bad noise, like gurgling. And then the closet door was open and Mama told Tony to say goodbye to his Daddy. Police came then, and there was a lot more yelling.

An ambulance man pulled Anthony away from all the blood. “Be a good boy,” Grandpa said, so Tony didn't scream or cry, even when they touched the bones coming out of his arm. The ambulance man said some very bad words.

“He’s in shock,” the ambulance man said, covering Tony’s face with a bandage and wrapping Tony in a blanket. They put Tony and Grandpa in the ambulance. The siren made everything hurt. Grandpa held his good hand.

“You’re a good boy, my Tony,” said Grandpa. “I’m sorry. Grandpa loves you,” he said, which was the first time he ever said that without being reminded. “You be careful. Make sure people are really good before you trust them.” Tony nodded. The ambulance man gave him a shot, and Tony fell asleep.

He woke up next to a scary looking boy much bigger than him. Someone had beaten the boy up even worse than when Daddy hit Mama, and one of his hands was attached to the bed by a handcuff, but the boy was reading a newspaper as if nothing was wrong. Tony’s broken arm had needles coming out of it and it was tied to the side of the bed. He tried to move his other arm, but stopped when he realized there was a big needle sticking him.

Tony felt his eyes get bigger when he saw the boy look at him. “I like you,” said the boy. He sounded funny and then Tony realized his mouth was wired shut. “You been real quiet. Last kid in here screamed and cried all night.” Tony nodded, and just then a nurse came in with a food cart holding two big plastic trays.

“Anthony?” she asked. Tony nodded. “Can you eat on your own, Anthony?” Tony shook his head no, and the nurse sat down. She uncovered the food and Tony felt his mouth water, even though it was plain oatmeal. “Do you like sugar?” Tony nodded. He tried not to wince at the pain when he breathed.

“That cheek has to hurt pretty bad,” said the boy, and the nurse covered the food and went out.

“Anthony,” said the boy. “I’m Bruce.”

“Good to meet you,” said Tony politely.

“You’re hungry?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” said Tony. “Real hungry.”

“You can have mine, then,” said Bruce, just as the nurse came back in. “He can have mine, Mrs. Wallace.”

“You’re a better boy than you pretend,” said Mrs. Wallace, putting sugar on the oatmeal out of tiny white paper packets like they had at the diner. She used three. “Open up Anthony,” she said. Tony opened his mouth.

“Much better,” said Bruce. “I’m innocent, you know.”

“That’s enough out of you,” said Mrs. Wallace, slowly feeding Tony, a mouthful at a time. “It’s all right, Anthony. There’s plenty of time. Don’t gulp or you could get sick.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tony. She turned on the television to a show about ladies talking in a row of chairs.

“Good job,” said Mrs. Wallace. At the commercial, she looked at Tony more closely. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

“I dunno,” said Tony, then remembered how Grandma told him to talk to grownups. “Ma’am.”

“Before the ambulance came?” she prompted. “Did you have your supper that night?” Tony felt very ashamed.

“Maybe two days,” he said, finally.

Mrs. Wallace nodded. She put more sugar on the oatmeal and fed Tony the rest and a few jello cubes. “I’ll be right back,” said Mrs. Wallace, taking away the tray. She came back a few minutes later and asked Tony if he felt sick.

“No, ma’am,” said Tony. So, Mrs. Wallace opened Bruce’s tray and fed Tony the jello and some kind of white food like oatmeal, with more sugar on top and gave Bruce the juice and another drink. She left again and came back about half an hour later with an ice cream sandwich and a can of Coke.

“It’s just this once because you missed your supper,” said Mrs. Wallace.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” said Tony. While Tony was having the ice cream a guard came in and told Mrs. Wallace to stop.

“These kids are in big trouble,” he said, turning off the television. “And you’re giving them ice cream?”

“Not me,” said Bruce from behind his paper.

“That’s enough out of you,” said the guard.

“Yes, Mr. Simmons,” said Bruce.

“This boy is seriously undernourished,” said Mrs. Wallace in a very scary voice, turning the television back on. She put on cartoons, and stayed until Tony finished the ice cream, then set the can of Coke in a drawer.

“I’m going to find some ice,” she said.

A doctor came in with Mrs. Wallace. He pulled the curtain around the bed and lifted up Tony’s gown so his privates were showing. He tried to cover himself up, but Mrs. Wallace stopped his hand.

“This is the doctor. We need to make sure nothing bad happened to you.” Tony felt terrible and dirty while the doctor looked at him, all over. He flinched back when the doctor touched his bruised ribs. They put Tony’s gown back down and opened the curtains.

“You’re right, Mrs. Wallace. The boy is severely undernourished,” said the doctor, writing notes down on the chart. “I’ll order X-rays of those ribs, as well.” Finally, the doctor looked at Tony.

“What flavor of ice cream do you like, Anthony?” he asked. “Chocolate? Do you like chocolate milk?”

“Yes, sir,” said Anthony.

The doctor wrote something else down on the chart. “From now on at the hospital, you will get an extra snack and an extra drink until you gain enough weight. Do you understand?”

Tony nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good boy,” said the doctor, going out. While the doctor talked to the guards, Mrs. Wallace poured some Coke into a small paper cup with ice and gave it to Tony. She stayed until he was finished.

“You were a very good boy today,” she said before she left. “And you were trouble, as usual,” she said to Bruce, but it sounded like she didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” said Tony.

“See you Thursday,” said Bruce. “Thanks for the paper.” Tony looked over, unsure what to do. “She’s not a regular nurse,” said Bruce. “Just a volunteer. I heard them guards talking.” Tony waited. “They said you did in your old man for beating on your ma.” Tony didn’t say anything. “He do your arm and all them marks?”

“Yeah,” said Tony. Bruce nodded.

“Sorry. Mine was pretty rough, too, until he got himself shot. Want me to read you the funnies?”

Tony felt as if something big was lifted off his chest. “Yeah. Thanks, Bruce.”

“It’s okay,” said Bruce. “I like reading.” Tony fell asleep to the sound of Bruce’s voice.

The next day, the doctor came back and put tape on Tony’s ribs where they hurt. “Is that better?” Tony nodded and said thank you. The doctor got a funny look on his face. “Who taught you how to behave, young man?” Tony choked a little when answered. “Your Grandma did a very good job.”

Bruce stayed in the hospital until the wires came out of his jaw and then they took him away. “I like you, kiddo,” he said to Tony, “But I hope I don’t see yes again any time soon.” The next bed stayed empty for a few days and then there was a boy named Nico who liked to talk.

“You’re quiet, aren't you?” said Nico one day.

“My Grandpa didn't like too much talking,” said Tony.

“They’re like that,” said Nico knowledgably. “If I was quiet enough, he’d let me see the funnies.”

“Mine, too,” said Tony.

Tony didn't understand what was happening and no one explained why, when the tape came off his ribs and they finally put his arm into a cast, he hadn't seen his Grandpa and they made him put on a uniform and put chains on his feet. They brought him to a place that looked like a jail and made him get undressed and other things he didn’t like, but he stayed still and quiet. And then they brought him into a big room full of boys and girls. The big ones looked at him like he was a piece of meat, and Tony made his face still and hard. Nico came out from nowhere and told them to leave him alone.

“Hey,” said Nico.

“Hey,” said Tony.

“Anthony?” a familiar voice sounded.

And then Tony looked and saw a kid reading a paper to a group of older kids. The paper tipped down and behind it was Bruce. “I like that face on you, kiddo,” Bruce said. The other kids moved back from Tony when Bruce got up, smiling, and shook Tony’s good hand. “Hey,” said Bruce to Nico.

“Hey,” said Nico, nervously, his eyes flicking back to the group of older kids, who’d stood up to see who Bruce was talking to, then back to the big kids he’d left. “Nico,” he said to Bruce. “You’re a Moran?”

“Yeah. You a friend of Anthony’s?” Bruce wanted to know.

“Roomies,” said Nico. Bruce nodded.

“You got good friends here?” Nico nodded and so did Bruce. “Good to meet you, Nico.” Nico said it was good to see Anthony and backed off. Bruce smiled bitterly. “I’m sorry to see you here, but I got good news. There’s room in my bunk. You wanna hear the funnies?”

“Yeah,” said Tony.

“Come meet my cousins,” said Bruce.

“He looks like one of them goombahs,” said the biggest kid.

“He’s my friend,” said Bruce. “And he’s gonna be my new bunkmate. He’s nice and quiet. He don’t make no trouble and the grown-ups all like him.”

“Goombah,” said the big kid again, shoving at Tony. Nico stood up on the far side of the room.

“Goombahs is in control of the streets in case you ain’t noticed,” said another kid quietly. “You’re smart, Bruce, but go read the paper to your little friends someplace else. We men got some talking to do.”

Bruce shrugged and moved to an empty table in the middle of the room. Nico, tentatively, joined them. “They say you can choke a kid out without the guards seeing,” he said when Bruce finished the funnies. Bruce shrugged. “They say I can learn a lot from you.” Bruce looked at Tony.

“Nico likes to talk,” Tony said. “Bruce don’t like talking.” Bruce laughed. They got called for school and Tony followed Bruce and Nico to a classroom because no one told him where to go. The teacher didn’t much care, either.

“You been to school before?”

“A little, sir,” said Tony. The teacher’s eyebrows popped up, but he gave Tony a paper and crayons to draw shapes on lines while the others read a story and the teacher talked. Tony stopped drawing to listen and he realized it was a story he knew.

“You there in the back. What day did we declare independence?”

“July fourth?” said Tony. The teacher’s eyebrows popped up again.

“And why is that important? Nico?”

“Barbecue day?” said Nico, “We have barbecues that day.” All the other kids laughed. “Hey! We do. Sausage and peppers.”

The teacher hushed them up. “Yes, Nico, we celebrate that day because we declared independence. But it’s also important for another reason. Duane?”

“Did Abraham Lincoln have a barbecue with George Washington?” Duane wanted to know.

“No. Mario?”

“Isn't it supposed to be chicken or hamburgers at the barbecue?” asked Mario. The teacher sighed.

“Traditionally, Independence Day is celebrated with fireworks,” he said. “And the barbecue is determined by your preferences and household budget.” He handed out papers with writing on them. “Read this and answer the questions.” Tony took a paper and copied down some of the writing shapes on the lines. The teacher came and said "good try." It was the first time a teacher ever said anything nice to Tony after he tried writing, so he looked around and saw that the other kids had drawn pictures of their private parts or played tic-tac-toe.

In the end, Nico moved into the bunk as well. It was jail of some kind, Anthony knew, but he had his own bed and food to eat three times a day and two friends.  It was worse than Grandma's house, but much better than home.


End file.
